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Are You Ready For Some (American) Football?!
Rammstein Air Base A military airbase with both German and American presence! Hangars and various military equipment are present. Thing Contents: Marissa Faireborn Gabriel Henshaw Nathaniel Briar Glaive II - Prototype Exo-Suit 5391 Riptide Spare Exo-Suit 5388 Riptide Spare Terran Shuttle Marissa Faireborn returned to Earth late last evening after a mission with several Autobots. The Colonel is in the Air Base's workout room & gym, wearing army issue sweats. Her hands are wrapped with white tape and she is currently beating the hell out of a thick punching bag. There are mats throughout the gym as other soldiers lift weights, do aerobics, run on the treadmills, or use any other number of questionable exercise machines. Despite taking care of funeral arrangements, Nate has made his way back to the lovely base of Rammstein where he is currently looking for something. What is it? A note book full of ideas he had. Oddly that seems to have taken more interest than sitting around, waiting for Michael to be dropped in the Earth. James Bailey walks out from the the Rammstein barracks room YET AGAIN. Even though he's ostensibly been transferred to Moscow, he's already made return trips here for his footlocker, his spare uniform, lucky sneakers, each time quite sure it was his last trip. This time, he's back for... The weekly Talon-Pilot vs Warthog-Pilot game of tackle football! Since James has been known to pilot both Exos, both teams like to have him around as to even the sides or play all-time QB. James himself doesn't mind, since in his mind he's always going to be on the winning team anyway (since the winning team is always his team). Always his team? Perhaps not this time, Mr. Bailey. Marissa, having warmed up on the punching bag, stops boxing with it and tosses a small white towel with a navy blue EDC insignia on it. The Colonel isn't breathing particularly hard yet, though she's heading for one of those annoying stair-master machines. Normally Marissa would just go jogging, but she's expecting a call at any moment and can't justify leaving the base. Nathaniel Briar heads towards the gym to see if he can remember where his notebook is. He's in his flightsuit despite not being on duty. His Glaive is still grounded as well. He notices James and waves towards him. "Howdy." James Bailey walks through the gym with a couple of other Exo-Pilots, who in turn are leading a small stream of Warthog and Talon jocks. James seems to be talking with the pilots with him, one a young, clean-cut, sleekly athletic looking flyboy and the other a grizzled, powerfully built tanker. The three walk right by Marissa, nodding respectfully. They all seem to be pretty relaxed, joking and trash-talking good-naturedly with each other. And each of them smiles confidently. James looks up briefly at Nate, surprise on his face, then excuses himself quickly from the other pilots, promising to catch up. He scoots over to Nate. "Protooo! How're you holding up?" James seems especially energetic today in anticipation of the game. So much more fun than the constant grind of the Russian War. Marissa Faireborn nods back to the trio of soldiers as she passes them. Seeing Nate however is of interest, however, given his sad state of late. The Colonel watches as James heads over and peers at Nate. "Planning on living in your flight suit from here on out?" she asks him in a slightly teasing tone. Marissa's noticed the stream of pilots heading out, though she can't recall what in the world they'd be heading to. Nathaniel Briar salutes Marissa, "I just flew in. Hence the attire." He smiles for a minute as he thinks about it. "Though I could get to work on checking out Russia later night and be on time for tomorrow." He seems rather calm and not upset about the death of Michael. "James, I'm holding up fine. How about you? You're moving through the ranks pretty quickly. Maybe you'll be General at this point." He smirks and wonders where Gabe is and if he's able to deal with all the blood in that exo. James Bailey smirks at Nate's moving up the ranks comment. "Yeah, you can say that again." His eyes flick over to Marissa. "Not that I'm complaining, of course! Just a little faster than...than I was expecting." He almosts says 'than -even- I was expecting' but catches himself mid-sentance. He looks around briefly, watching as the last few pilots leave the gym. He seems antsy about something, kind of rare for James. "Nate, I'd really love to catch up...but you think we could do it on the field hockey grounds? They're about to start a game..." he adds quickly, "Uh, you too Colonel! No better way to finish up a workout." Marissa Faireborn seems to ignore the comments about rank. The EDC hasn't exactly had a huge number of soldiers that were ready to move up the chain of command recently. There had to be a few compromises here and there. Either way, Marissa is glad that Nate looks like he's finally getting over the worst of it. Mike died a little over a week ago. "Field hockey?" she asks. "I don't think I've ever played," her tone suggests that she's fine with trying it, though. Nate has been fine but he is just more or less wondering what is going on with Zoe; she is the one giving birth to a dead man's kid. "James, I'll watch. I don't play sports so I wouldn't be that great." He grins and looks at Marissa. "I'm alright to be active. I've handled Blitzwing in Russia over the weekend." James Bailey's eyebrows go up. "Blitzwing, huh? I can see now that we're gonna have to work on showing you the meaning of the words 'off duty'." He takes Nate gently by the elbow. He also nods to Marissa. "That's the spirit, Colonel...oh and I guess I wasn't clear before, but it's actually gonna be football. Full-contact. We just use the Field Hockey grounds, because, well...we had a few misunderstandings when we tried to use the soccer field. You know, American football, European football...anyway!" James tugs slightly but insistently at Nate's arm, trying to lead him towards the door. Marissa Faireborn nods back to Bailey, "Right. The football God intended us to play," she says in a tone that doesn't make it clear whether she's joking or not. She must be, though, as she briefly smiles at a few of the European EDC soldiers. "Count me in. How about it, Nathan? We're just out to have some fun. I'm sure we won't be too competitive." Marissa is practicing her lying skills. Nathaniel Briar looks at Marissa, "I'm not sure about it. The last thing I want to do is best James at his own game. He's taken over my squadron. I might need to be nice to him." He then thinks, 'Poor James! He got Rimmer and Redfield to deal with.' He then laughs idly to himself, "Alright, count me in." He stretches his shoulders and arms for a second longer. Marissa Faireborn says, "Shall we fast forward to the game?" James Bailey okays. James Bailey does some hasty stretching as he walks out onto the field. Looks like the teams have pretty much sorted themselves out...and for this one, James is on the side of the Talons. Most of them in their early twenties just like James, lean and quick on their feet and with the excellent reflexes and coordination of a fighter pilot. Lined up against them are a pack of Warthog pilots, strong and tough and reliable just like their Exos, and always looking to show the 'flyboys' a thing or two about teamwork - and excessive force. Marissa Faireborn is a well known Warthog pilot. The day she finally (and very reluctantly) switched from piloting an Ares to a Warthog was a great coup for the Exo-Armour tank division. Now granted she's dabbled in with the Talons before, but that's just experimenting. She's still loyal to the Warthogs. Sure she might drive around with some of the other classes now and then, but the Warthog knows its the one and only true vehicle for Marissa. The point is, Marissa is on the Warthog team, and thus against Mr. Bailey. The Colonel is not in her early twenties. She is 46. She is not in bad shape, but she is still 46. Nevertheless, she's going to give the Talon pilots a royal fight. Marissa stands next to a fellow Warthog driver and whispers something to her, pointing briefly at James. The other pilot laughs and whispers something back. Are they playing mind games with the Team Talon's star QB? James Bailey grabs the football and takes a few practice throws with a Talon pilot so tall some of the tankers have suspected him of being a Benefactor in disguise. He watches Marissa carefully as she singles him out, but forces himself to maintain a supremely calm, nonchalant attitude. Once everybody is ready, Team Talon huddles up briefly and then lines up to start the first play. The Talon's offense consists of a small 'line' of 3 blockers (the biggest Talon pilots present, still slightly scrawny compared to most of the Warthog defensive front), two recievers on each side (including Eduardo 'Too Tall' Johnson over there), and James himself. No runners in the backfield yet. Richard Rimmer wanders onto the field, dressed in a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt as he looks about smiling gormlessly at all the huddled players. "Oh, hi there chaps, I heard there was a football game going on!" He claps his hands together and starts to jog on the spot. "Right then, who's in goal?" Marissa Faireborn, having just joined, is not the captain of Team Warthog. But she's fast, as strong as a lot of guys, and has the power of heart (ok, what kind of lame power is heart, anyway?), and thus she's taken the Cornerback position to Bailey's left. She's either going to be falling back to cover one of the two receivers, or charging forward and trying to crash through the light line for the sack. There are a pair of safeties covering the receivers, which may suggest she'll be going in. With Team Warthog generally not being as fast as Team Talon, they're going to be trying to put a lot of pressure on Bailey in order to screw up his chances. As Richard wanders on, Marissa glances over, "American football, soldier. I think European football is next week." She hasn't checked the schedule recently. Nathaniel Briar looks at Rimmer and smiles, "Hey, Rimmer!" He takes his place next to the crazy Brit. "So, I'm on your team I think." He's pleased to be not dealing with anything. James Bailey leans down to take the snap. "Ready...SET!" a few players on the Warthog Team start to move in various directions in anticipation...and James stops and stands up straight. "That's right, Rimmer...American football. You know, the NFL? G(alactic)FL? M(onacus)FL? Well, the MFL's kind of more like pro-wrestling than real football. American football, I mean." He leans down again. "Ready...SET!!" This time he really barks it out, and players on both sides twitch slightly, some looking at James in annoyance. James himself straightens up again, continuing the explanation. "Kind of like Rugby. But with more breaks. And usually we wear pads, but this is just a light competition..." Those in the know would probably realize that every time James takes a break right before starting the play, he's also scanning Team Warthog quickly to see how they react. You see, James' long winning streak comes from relying on his own physical prowess...but he also makes the most of his tactical skills. Richard Rimmer simply stares at James like he's insane, looking him up and down. "...American? Is this some really quaint old game or something? But don't worry Nate!" He cocks his fingers at Nate like a gun. "I'm an expert at this, I've watched all the great football films. All we need to win is a disorganised village team, a mysterious grumpy stranger to coach us and a plucky young cockney boy to provide moral support" Marissa Faireborn's side twitches each time James fakes them out, but nobody goes outside. As Bailey keeps taking little timeouts in order to chat with Rimmer (who is this guy? Marissa thinks), the Warthog team captain, a medium built, remarkably quick guy in one of the safety positions calls out several audible defensive plays. Whether or not they mean anything is for Team Warthog to know and for Bailey to find out the hard way. Nathaniel Briar nods and laughs at Rimmer, at the the same time, "Just promise to tell me you aren't dressing up like a cheer leader to play and I'll be fine." Nate's not that physically built to take on the behemoth known as James. So, he'll rely on his foot speed. "This full tuckle or two hand touch?" James Bailey finally starts the play..."Ready, set, HIKE!!" One of the Talon linemen passes him the football. James snatches it up and scrambles backwards away from the line, while at the same time shifting the football so that he's holding it right for a pass. For all his trickery, it seems pretty straightforward play - Two Talon receivers streak down the field, the abnormally tall one stops to one side, and the final reciever turns and runs straight across. James, meanwhile, does his best to run back and forth in the backfield, keeping away from the Warthog lineman and watching for some reciever to get free. Team Warthog's defensive plan becomes obvious as the safeties move to try and cover the receivers. The man covering the one who stops short reads it perfectly and is all over him, while the one cutting across is slowly making some breathing room between him and his defender. The Warthog line meanwhile starts shoving the Talon players around, trying to break open a hole. A hole which Marissa thinks she might be able to exploit. The Colonel ducks and weaves, making it past a Talon defender just as he's pushed away from her. Faireborn is now making a beeline for Bailey, trying to keep with the running quarterback. Even if she doesn't get him for the sack, the hope is to force Bailey into commiting to a bad throw. "Full tackle!" someone shouts in reply to Nate. It might have been a Talon player or a Warthog player. It's tough to tell. Nathaniel Briar tries to understand this game the best he could as watches Faireborn try to get James sacked. He starts guarding one of the open Talons so he can keep things in favor for the Warthogs. "Batter's up!" James Bailey's eyes open up wide and he tries to scramble away from the blitzing Marissa. She's got the advantage since she's already moving at high speed though - James may be fast but he's no Michael Vick. He's already halfway down when in desperation he lobs the ball in a high pass at Eduardo, the freakishly tall pilot to one side. Even though he's covered, his sheer height lets a crafty quarterback just throw the ball high into the air, confident that Ed can just reach up and catch it without anyone else able to even come close. Unfortunately, while he might have the height of a Benefactor, he's got the hands of Mixcal Ocelotl, clumsiest of them all (according to his +finger info that is). The ball bounces off of Eduardo's fingertips and out into the side area of the field. Incomplete pass! As James picks himself up off of the field, spitting out grass, he shoots a sour look at Ed, the supposed 'safety net' and then a considering one at Marissa. "Nice play, Colonel." Marissa Faireborn collides with Bailey just as the pass is off, and she manages to avoid tackling him all the way, though Bailey ends up falling. The Colonel holds out a hand to help James back up. "Thanks," she says. Team Talon still has two more tries to get the ten yards, since this is American Football and not Canadian Football, where they man up and only need 3 downs. Marissa, somewhat out of breath after that play. Maybe the workout earlier took more out of her than she thought. The Warthog side lines back up, ready for the next play. Spike Witwicky has arrived. Nathaniel Briar really wishes he understood Football. "Crap, you'd think Sun Tzu would have had a thing about this game." He grins and looks at poor James, "Sorry to see the mud got ya!" He grins again. The Germans cheer. "Ja! Ja! Ja! Der Mann tackled aus die Frauline gehgen!" (Yes! Yes! Yes! The man got tackled by a woman!" Spike Witwicky comes out from the hangar bay looking a bit haggard but not too much the worse for wear. His engineers coveralls are tied around his waist. There's a couple of grease smudges on his face, but that's to be expected given the project. He heard tell of the game, and decided to take a few minutes break to come see what was going on. James Bailey rubs his shoulder a bit as he comes back to his spot in the Talon team's huddle. They speak in urgent whispers, the 7-footer Ed doing most of the whispering. After a while James' raised voice rings out, "You've got to be kidding me! Strained quad?!" He glares daggers at Ed, then visibly calms himself down and says something suitably apologetic. The two even tap fists briefly as Ed limps off of the field. Frustrated, James looks around for a sub, when a fellow Talon pilot nudges him and points out none other than the Spike himself. James looks between Spike and Marissa, considering, then cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, "Yo! Sec-Gen Witwicky!...We were just wondering, does the Pullman act apply to a friendly game of football? (American football, that is). Team Talon is down a man over here!" Marissa Faireborn and the rest of Team Warthog share looks and as they overhear something about a strained quad. "We expect to see you out here next time, Ed." one of the Warthog players calls out helpfully. "You're not getting off that easily." Everyone chuckles before starting to line back up, but pause as there's a chance Spike himself will be joining. Spike Witwicky smiles, "Well, only if you please quit using my title all the time. You guys know my name around here, god only knows it's been shouted in anger enough." he stretches a little so he doesn't break, and heads over to Team Talon's hudle. One of the youngest Talon pilots present, a girl barely out of her teens, dutifully replies to Spike, "Oh, we don't use your title all the time. Sometimes when you're not around they just call you--" she trails off at a few urgent looks from others around the huddle. "You have to earn your way out of that title, sir," Marissa calls out, teasing Spike. "Unless you prove you've still got game, you're going to be Secretary General Witwicky forever." She motions towards the other side. "You're with Team Talon." Nate says "Spike!" and runs over to him? Spike Witwicky smiles, "Hey Nate. Looks like you're down a man. Think you can handle an old man on your team?" Nathaniel Briar looks at Spike, "Let's go for it!" He smiles and then looks at James. "James is nothing..." James Bailey clears his throat at Spike, "Uh...Proto's playing on the Warthog team for this one, sir. So's the Colonel." He then lowers his voice even further to discuss the next play with the Talon huddle. James Bailey mutters to Spike Witwicky, "... got... Marissa,... She... sack... play.... playing QB,... it a... I... play... post route?" You whisper "We've got to watch out for Marissa, she's quick and sneaky. She almost got a sack last play. I've been playing QB, but you're welcome to give it a shot. I can play reciever...maybe a post route?" to Spike Witwicky. Spike Witwicky ohs. Well. He's a techie first, jock second. He goes over with James' team and huddles up. Spike Witwicky whispers to James Bailey and James Bailey: I dunno how good my arm is, but we'll see. I'm willing to try if you guys are. James Bailey nods briefly to Spike, then lines up with the rest of the Team Talon offense. This time James is in Ed's reciever spot, and Spike himself is in James' previous QB position. James flicks his eyes quickly over the Team Warthog defenders lining up with him. He smirks at Nate. "Let's see what you got, Proto." Spike Witwicky falls in behind center, and looks around, "RED FIFTY SEVEN! RED FIFTY SEVEN! HUT...HUT...HUT..HU-HIKE!" he shouts, and accepts the ball. He shuffles back a few steps and looks for openings to throw. Nathaniel Briar looks at James and smiles, "Oh, if you knew the other codename I have... You wouldn't be so tough." He starts running over to try and keep James from getting the ball. Why James? Because he's the challenge! James Bailey runs along next to Nathaniel...suddenly he takes a quick step to one side, then cuts back to run in his original direction. But as he does, he tries to nudge Nathaniel just a bit, to push him off-balance and prevent him from reacting to the move! James Bailey succeeds in grasping Nathaniel Briar, throwing him off-balance. Gabriel Henshaw says, "Where us Americans come from, we call that offensive pass interference. ;)" James Bailey doesn't see a referee anywhere... *whistles innocently* In other news, Spike isn't Peyton Manning but for fifty five he doesn't suck. Dropping back in the pocket, He scans his options. Ducks a flying corporal and is on the move! He jukes Jones, and scrambles in the other direction. Seeing James get open, Spike HEAVES the ball not so much with a canon like arm, but he still manages to move it some. You evade Nathaniel Briar's grasp attack. Nathaniel Briar tries to trip James as he gets pushed to the sides. "Damn... Beetle... I think you've been juicin'!" He smiles and tries to get back inline and stop James from getting the pass. James Bailey runs along down the field, making small adjustments to stay under the flying football (and leaving Nate a few strides behind him by now). The ball comes in over one of James' shoulders, right into his waiting hands. He catches it without breaking stride...and gives the Warthog safety arrowing in at him a sudden stiff-arm shove that makes them both go trampling over the touchdown line before they both tumble to the ground! Marissa Faireborn meanwhile was on the opposite side of the field as the play this time around. The Colonel jogs roughly to cover her man, but is otherwise not in a position to make a play at the moment. Nathaniel Briar groans and thinks he needs to demote James for cheating. "At least Rimmer didn't do that. Then I'd be mad." He grins and picks himself back up. "Alright, Beetle, you got lucky..." James Bailey pops back up to his feet and walks back down the field towards the Talon team. He doesn't spike the ball or engage in any flashy touchdown dance...but he does give Nate a smirk and a slight 'what's up' nod as he passes him by. The smirk is gone by the time he reaches Marissa, and James just tosses her the ball respectfully and then goes back to join the Talons. When he gets to the Spike he holds up one fist for a fist-tap. "Nice one, sir." Spike Witwicky returns the fist-tap as well as getting high fived by several teammates. "Ah, I was alright. Had a helluva lot of support on that. Good job." he smiles to James, and those around him who blocked for that play. Nathaniel Briar looks at Rimmer, "Alright, we're going to use you for something special since I apparently am useless." He stretches again to keep himself in form. "No worries, we'll get it back," Faireborn is saying as Team Warthog takes control of the ball. The team huddles together for strategy. With Nate, Richard, and Marissa being new additions to the team, neither of them are quarterbacks. As the Warthogs have plenty of tough guys, they aren't linemen either. Nate is given the job of running back, and Marissa and Richard as wide receivers. The team captain, also the quarterback, looks like the sort of guy who avoids sacks by being impossible to take down. Judging by the size of his arm, fifty yard throws are probably not out of the question, though the accuracy could be in doubt. "Alright," says the captain. "We now have some speed on the team-" he nods in the newcomers' direction. "So we're going to put that to use. Colonel, if you could run a post route down the right side, I'll be looking for you at the ten second mark. Richard, cut across the middle." Pause. "That means you run about twelve yards down field, then cut across towards the middle of the field, and I'll try to get you there. I'll hand off to the Lieutenant if they look ready for the pass. Questions?" "Damnnation," mutters Nate as he tries to understand things. 'So, I handle things in the offensive backfield. Awesome.' Nate then blinks and hopes he isn't sounding like Michael Bay. "That means you do three things, sir," the Captain hastily explains. "One, you might get a handoff, at which point you run. Now our line is damn good so we can probably force some yards that way. Two, you might get a short pass, but this isn't likely this time since I'm keeping you near me. And three, if it comes down to it, you're blocking for me." James Bailey drifts back into the secondary of the Talon's defensive formation, while at the same time trying to direct the others. Since the Exo-Jet pilots tend to be faster but not as strong, he puts a lot of them into safety and linebacker positions, leaving only two of them strictly as linemen. However, most of the other Talons are crowding the line, where they could easily cover runners or blitz. James positions himself in the safety spot, and gestures at a similar position for The Spike. "Time to put some of that hard-earned life experience to good use, sir." Once everyone is in place, he cups his hands over his mouth again and calls out loudly to Nate. "It's not that different from squad level tactics, Pro! You just need to figure out where you can do the most good. And who you match up best against." Spike Witwicky chuckles lining up alongside James, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, "Well, it's a firefight against the Decepticons packin' Devastator, but it's tough enough as it is." Nathaniel Briar looks over at Marissa and and crew. "We can do this..." He then hears James' advice, "James, if it was a lot like my tactics... You'd beaten up by me using an obvious decoy. Rimmer in a mini skirt." He laughs slightly and wonders the next step of the plans. "Ok, lets go!" The team captain & quarterback says. Team Warthog moves out and takes to the field. They have five guys on the line, figuring that they'll be able to push around the smaller folks. Nate has got backup, and Richard and Marissa as receivers. Everyone lines up, the Quarterback scans the defenders, noting the cautious defence arrayed out in front of them. "Ready... set... hike!" The QB takes the ball and backs up. Marissa meanwhile sprints forward, faking towards centre but then running up the sideline. Spike Witwicky covers his man..er..woman. Spike shows his non-sexism by taking on the challenge of attempt to cover Marissa! James Bailey peels away to help one of the Talon defenders cover a surprisingly speedy Warthog who somehow got a step ahead (maybe with the help of a little judicious illegal contact, but James isn't exactly one to talk). Along the way he shouts out, "The Colonel! Watch the Colonel!" He also tries to keep an eye on what's going on in the backfield... The team captain falls back, holding the ball with one hand while his line works to decimate the opposition. It is good to be big and strong when you're playing NFL rules. The captain looks patient while he tries to find Richard. Unfortunately the Brit is apparently unable to get open. He glances briefly at Nathan to see if he's ready for a handoff. Hell, maybe he'll just run with it himself. Marissa's fake meanwhile gets her past one defender, but not without a bump. Faireborn tries to put some distance between her and Witwicky. Spike Witwicky misses Marissa Faireborn with his grasp attack. Spike Witwicky is trying to catch up with Marissa..but let's face it. He's older. She's got a few steps in front of him and he tries to catch her..almost..there..maybe..tips of fingers... James Bailey runs alongside the Warthog receiver he's defending. Between himself and the Exo-Jet pilot that was originally covering this tanker, they've got him pretty well blanketed. But he's picking something out of the corner of his eye that he knows can't be good for his team... Marissa Faireborn glances over her shoulder even as Spike catches up to her. Although the Sec Gen isn't quite there, it's too close for comfort and the Warthog QB refrains from passing to her. With no other good option left, the captain tucks the ball under his arm and bowls forward through a hole in the weak Talon line, trying to get as far as he can before getting tackled. Nate's trying to do something but before he can... he accidently runs into a giant German who Nate didn't notice before! "Ooff!" He goes down! James Bailey wheels around and races back towards the Warthog QB, fighting off a block...just as Talon-Team defenders all over the field do the same thing. They're spread out all over the place, and by the time enough converge on the running Warthog to tackle him (it seems like it takes half the team to bring him down), the ball has been run more than halfway down the field, more than enough to get a first down. James helps some of the Talon and Warthog pilots up from the pile, then gives the QB a wry nod, which is grudgingly returned. It's clear that James can't count on an easy win this time. For once, the teams are evenly matched - with so many of the EDC's elite present, James isn't able to single-handedly provide the edge needed to put one side ahead. Looks like it's gonna be a real game this time... James Bailey says, "Aaaand...cue the montage?" Spike Witwicky says, "Sounds good to me?" Marissa Faireborn says, "Monnnntage!"